


You Are My Address (I Need A One Way Ticket)

by InMediasRes



Series: String of Fate [9]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Apologies, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentions of Therapy, POV Eliot Waugh, Peaches and Plums (The Magicians)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InMediasRes/pseuds/InMediasRes
Summary: “Fuck you, Eliot.”“Oh, I sure hope so.” He can feel his smile quirk up into a smirk as he gives Quentin a seductive once-over, like he had in front of that Brakebills sign forever ago.or;Eliot gets a bus ticket to New Jersey on Christmas Day.
Relationships: Eliot Waugh & Julia Wicker, Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: String of Fate [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076294
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	You Are My Address (I Need A One Way Ticket)

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo, I'm managing to post at a reasonable time for once!
> 
> This is that Christmas Day talk, from Eliot's POV this time. It's about time they talk! Somewhat. ;)
> 
> Title taken from One Way Ticket by ONE OK ROCK

* * *

_My heart is anywhere you go,_

_When I'm next to you, I'm home._

_-_ 'One Way Ticket', ONE OK ROCK

* * *

_Julia_

_Today 2:00 PM_

_You better be coming to visit, either before or after Christmas. I thought you’d sorted your shit out._

_Eliot_

_Today 2:05 PM_

_Julia, I am not showing up unannounced, that’s rude._

_I still have a lot to unpack_

_What if he still doesn’t want to see me?_

_Julia_

_Today 2:06 PM_

_That’s bs and you know it._

_He does still want to see you, he’s just too stubborn_

_He changed his showcase set for you just fyi_

_Eliot_

_Today 2:21 PM_

_I… Don’t even know what you want me to say to that._

_Julia_

_Today 2:22 PM_

_Say nothing. Do something._

_Just show up and fix it. He’ll love it._

* * *

Eliot was nervous. He couldn’t stop his leg from jittering, or fluttering his hands to smooth down his jacket or his shirt, both of which did not need smoothing down. He ignores Margo’s exasperated sigh, but he gives her hand a squeeze anyway when she takes his in an effort to calm him down.

Christ on a bike, why had he let _Julia_ talk him into doing this? What was he even going to say?

Margo gives another sigh and rests her head on his shoulder. “You’re thinking as loud as Q,” she complains lightly.

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

Eliot can feel her eye roll even from up here.

“El, all you have to do is tell him that you’re sorry, and that you love him, and that you never ever ever want to be apart again.”

He can’t help the smile tugging at his lips as he replies, “Easier said than done.”

Except.

Well. It was kind of true? Eliot didn’t ever want to be separate from Quentin again, not if he could help it. But that – that felt a lot like. Like a promise. A proposal. _Never ever ever want to be apart again_. It had a weight that Eliot wasn’t sure he could currently shoulder, but it also came with a clarity that made him take a deep, calming breath: he could do this.

He _will_ do this.

God, he hadn’t just spent the morning – _Christmas Day_ _morning_ – in a panic trying to find a way to get to New Jersey in time, because for some reason he had woken up thinking _I need to tell him. Like today. Like right now_.

And so Margo had woken up to a frantic Eliot, who had been pacing and muttering, jabbing at his phone screen as he tried to find a bus running on _Christmas Day_. Margo – how he _loves_ her – immediately understood what he was trying to do and had also started searching, even phoned the only company that was running buses today and had wrangled two tickets for them both.

With the morning panic over, Eliot had cooked them pancakes with Margo’s favourite toppings as an apology, and then they had exchanged gifts – Eliot had gotten a new scarf and jacket from Margo, the good quality kind, and she had gotten a few pairs of Victoria’s Secret lingerie to which she had grinned in delight at. And then they both had to hurriedly pack; Eliot wasn’t sure how long they were staying, so he packed a few days’ worth just in case. He didn’t want to infringe on Q’s holiday season with his family, so he figures him and Margo could shack up in a hotel for the next couple of days, and then get the bus back.

And now hours later, he and Margo stepped off the bus into the snow, lightly shivering. It was dark now, despite it only being late evening, and it was beginning to snow again. He glanced up at the sky, smiling, before taking Bambi’s hand and they made the short walk from the bus station to Quentin’s home, following the directions from Eliot’s phone (he hoped it won’t die on the way; that would ruin the surprise if Margo had to end up phoning Julia to tell them they were dropping by).

Luckily, they made it to Quentin’s before Eliot’s phone died, leaving them standing in front of the door. Now faced with the reality of being here and knowing Quentin was _just on the other side_ , Eliot hesitated, his hand raised to press the door buzzer. What if he said the wrong thing again? What if he made it worse, fucked it up so bad that this would be the last time ever that he would see Quentin? What if, when faced with the truth again, he wouldn’t be able to say the words? The ones that really mattered?

Feeling Margo rest an encouraging hand on his back, he takes a breath and pushes the button before taking a few steps back from the door. A few moments later, it swings open, and Eliot’s breath leaves him in one go, like it had been punched out of him.

_Quentin_.

The door is promptly slammed in his face.

Eliot exchanges a glance with Margo: _do you think he’s okay?_ Her eyebrow lifts ever so slightly in reply: _well, I think we definitely surprised him_. Eliot runs a hand through his hair and is about to ring the buzzer again when the door creaks open, just a sliver really, and Eliot – well, he can’t help looking fondly at the face peering out at him a little suspiciously.

“Alright idiots, ovary up and fucking talk, or _so help me God_ , I will drag you both by your cocks ‘til they never see the light of day again.”

Eliot almost startles, half turning to look at Bambi – he’d very nearly forgotten she was there, so focused he had been on drinking in his first proper sight (showcases notwithstanding) of Quentin in weeks. But Quentin is now looking at Margo in slight confusion before he seems to find his voice.

“Um, let me just…” he waves a hand haplessly behind him. “I’ll be just a minute.”

And then he’s closing the door on them again. Eliot is left blinking at it for the second time in five minutes.

“Jesus, he’s more of a mess than I thought,” Bambi says, half amused, half concerned.

“He’s probably freaking out that we’ve – that I’ve – just shown up,” Eliot replies, taking a few more steps back to lean against the porch pillar. He hopes Quentin will be a bit quick; it’s getting a bit cold standing out here that he has to shove his hands deep into his jacket pockets. He considers having a smoke to calm his nerves, but before he can do anything about that, the door is opening again and Quentin steps out.

Eliot straightens up from his casual stance, slowly taking in the sight of Quentin; he has a black hoodie on, unzipped, with a dark blue t-shirt underneath and black jeans. His hair is down, tucked behind his ears so Eliot can see his eyes – his kind, russet-coloured eyes, wary as he first takes in Eliot and then Margo on his porch. But most importantly – he looks _good_. Okay, yes, he does have faint dark circles under his eyes, but they’re so faint that Eliot can chalk it up to Quentin’s usual insomnia. Apart from that though, his face is lightly flushed – either from the wine he’s brought out with him, or the cold, or the warmth from inside, maybe all three – but Eliot can’t see any other visible concerns about Q’s overall health.

“Uh, Margo, just. Um. Just go in, dining room’s on the right. Dinner’s already laid out,” Quentin is saying, doing that thing where he’s rubbing at the back of his neck when he’s feeling particularly awkward. It makes Eliot smile, and he has to look away before he does something like – like kiss him before he’s even apologised for breaking his heart.

He catches Bambi’s eyes and she immediately raises a brow: _you good here? Not gonna fuck things up more?_

Eliot widens his eyes innocently, his own brows raising: _I promise I’ll yell for help if I feel like I’m going to self-sabotage, but I’ll try not to._

She narrows her eyes at him, throwing him a sharp look: _watch it._

Eliot then frowns at her, more serious than he’s probably ever been in his life: _Bambi, I know, okay? I’m going to fix it. It’s what I’m here for_.

He watches as she cuts a glance to Quentin before focusing back on him: _I swear if both of you don’t come through that door holding hands, I will cut a bitch._

_Message received._

_Are you absolutely sure you’ll be fine on your own?_

Eliot takes a few moments to answer that – he knows she’s not lecturing him about messing his apology up this time, but that she’s truly asking if he wants her to stay for moral support. And an adoration so strong rushes through him it almost staggers him; he is truly, truly grateful for her love and support in the couple of years he has known her, and he wouldn’t be here now – in therapy, going to win his man back, a little battered and bruised but _stronger for it_ – without having her hand to hold when it got too much for one person to shoulder. She was absolutely his ride-or-die, his partner-in-crime, his soulmate in every way but romantically.

Bambi – his perceptive, fierce, _beautiful_ Bambi – must have read all of that in his face because her eyes soften for a second before her face goes back to being formidable as she huffs and stalks to the door to open it again.

“ _Talk_ , dickwads,” she says while glowering at both of them before flouncing into the house, closing the door behind her.

When the door closes, Eliot can’t meet Quentin’s eyes and ends up staring at his shoes instead; he doesn’t want to see rejection there, or disappointment, or… Anything else that will tell him he’s unwelcome here. He thinks that would probably break him more than anything – God, even the thought alone… Even if he does deserve it. Even if he does understand why Quentin would not want him here, would not want him at his house, in his _home_. Eliot internally sighs and opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but Quentin beats him to it.

“What are you doing here, Eliot?”

He sounds tired, drained – Eliot can relate. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, scrapes the toe of his shoe against the snow. Taking a calming breath, Eliot clenches his hands into fists and drags his eyes up; up Quentin’s legs, past his navel, up his chest, lingering on his lips before finally, finally meeting his eyes. He sucks in a breath. Quentin’s eyes have an unreadable look in them, but Eliot can still see the wariness.

“Quentin. Q.” He pauses, takes another breath, and swallows. His hands twitch with nervous energy and he raises one to ruffle his curls for something to do. _Come on, El. Better start with the apology._ “I want to apologise, first. I hadn’t meant to dismiss your feelings and –”

“– Great. That’s really great Eliot, apology accepted, fan- _fucking_ -tastic. So you thought an apology would fix everything?” Quentin interrupts him heatedly, and Eliot can see the tears welling up, which he brushes away in anger.

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck._

“What? No! Would you just _fucking listen for once_ ,” he manages to hiss out in frustration, wanting to stop Quentin before he gets too mad and leaves.

He almost recoils from the glare Quentin sends his way before he takes a few gulps of the water he brought out with him alongside the wine, waving his glass at him to continue when he’s done. Eliot takes a few moments to centre himself and reorder his thoughts. _What now?_ He’s tried apologising first, but Quentin hadn’t taken that well. Was it because he hadn’t sounded sincere enough? Eliot chews his lip, wondering where to start. Well. Sheila, his therapist, had mentioned that sometimes it was a good idea to start with admitting his faults?

“Look, I. I know I messed up, okay? You went out on a limb and yeah, it was a little crazy, but I knew. I knew it was a moment that truly mattered, and I just snuffed it out.”

Eliot keeps eye contact as Quentin stares at him in shock, and maybe a little disbelief. He slowly takes in a breath, holds it, then releases it in a slow exhale before continuing.

“Q, I’m sorry. I was afraid and. When I’m afraid, I run away.” There. He’s admitted it – he had been a coward. Maybe still is ( _the jury is still out on that one_ , Eliot thinks for a wild second, wanting to laugh. He chokes it down). He steps forward, uncertainly reaching a hand out, wanting to _touch_ , to _hold_ , to _kiss_. Knowing that he can’t, not yet, maybe not ever if Q doesn’t forgive him, he manages to stop himself from actually pulling Quentin in by the arm.

“Eliot… What are you saying?” Quentin’s voice comes out in almost a whisper, but Eliot can see a slight flicker of hope and it. It reignites the hope Eliot had been too scared let grow since he started therapy, but now… Well, he’s been going to therapy, and he’s shovelled a ton of his shit, so maybe…

He takes another step forward, into Quentin’s space – a brief flash of doing the exact same in his first meeting with Quentin – and he suppresses a smile.

“Peaches and plums, motherfucker. I love you too.”

“ _Eliot_ ,” Quentin exhales in shock and elation, with a hint of relief.

In the next blink, Eliot is kissing Quentin, and it’s soft and gentle yet full of a burning Eliot hadn’t felt in too long. He can’t help the groan that slips out when he feels Quentin’s hand slipping into his hair and giving it a light tug. _Okay, so maybe they both have a slight kink for hair pulling, who knew?_ He can feel Q’s smile against his lips, as if he knows what he’s thinking. _The fucker_. But he forgets it in the next second when he can feel himself being pulled closer by Quentin’s deceptively strong arms, and Eliot is all too happy to follow until the space between them is filled, charged with rekindled desire and love.

“ _Eliot_ ,” Q whispers when he comes up for air, voice full of wonder. “God, I missed you.”

Eliot rests his forehead against Quentin’s, nose to nose, sees the love and hope in his expressive eyes just like that night a month ago and – he lets himself fall. “I missed you too. Q, I’m scared. You have no idea how scared I am, of love, of fucking up. But I’ll try because… Because I’m scared of losing you too. Q, I’m standing here now because you make me feel brave. I’m braver, about all of this, because I learned it from you.”

He’s still free falling – slow, ever so slow, but also hurtling into the waters of foreign territory – with his heart in his throat, as he watches Quentin’s cheeks bloom into colour and his face goes through about a hundred different expressions before he throws his head back to laugh, wrapping his arms around Eliot’s neck and Eliot – Eliot just smiles and smiles, because. Because Quentin is beautiful, like this, in his arms, with his cheeks red and that oh-so-familiar gleam in his eyes. Even when he’s laughing at his own expense, because the _very idea_ that someone like _Eliot_ could ever be brave because of someone like _Quentin_ and –

“Q, I’m serious. No matter how much of a mess you are in your daily life, you’ve always been sure of what you wanted in your relationships, romantic or otherwise. I could only hope to be like that.”

– Eliot can’t let it stand that Quentin doesn’t think he’s brave, because he _is_. When it comes to people, Quentin knows what he wants and he _goes for it_ , no hesitation, without a doubt. Unlike Eliot, who runs and runs. Or, well, used to run. Because he’s trying to turn over a new leaf, and Sheila is helping him learn the warning signs of when he’s about to bolt.

“Are you kidding me? Like, for real? Eliot, you are the most self-assured person I know, besides Margo. Fuck, when I met you, I didn’t know if I wanted to _be_ you or fuck you.”

Well.

Eliot can feel his brows raise and he can’t help but smile, charmed and delighted by that little tidbit of information. His smile widens when Quentin lets out a tormented groan and hides his face in Eliot’s neck.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Eliot sighs, placing a kiss on the top of Quentin’s head and. Well. If they’re going to be talking about the first time they met – Quentin really has nothing on him, so – “When I saw you, stumbling all starry-eyed onto campus, I knew. I’m into high-strung nerds, and you _very_ much fit the bill. And then. Your first showcase, Q. _Jesus_ , you playing the guitar broke me. I couldn’t hold back anymore. And… And that _girl_ , that redhead at the party wanting to be your mentor? Fuck that. More like she wanted to bang you.”

Eliot briefly closes his eyes and drops his head onto Quentin’s in the guise of giving him another kiss on the head. He hadn’t meant to say that much, but it had just all tumbled out and – he hadn’t been able to help the old jealousy burn in him at the thought of that redhead trying to hit on Quentin back at that first party, even if she would never see him like how _Eliot_ gets to see him. He smiles into Quentin’s hair when the shorter man lets out a disbelieving laugh as he shakes his head just ever so slightly.

“What? No she didn’t,” he objects, snickering.

“Oh, she totally did. Can’t blame her really,” Eliot teases, lightly pulling on a bit of Quentin’s hair.

“What… Is that why… Is that the reason why you claimed me as your mentee in front of everyone?”

Eliot flares white-hot at that particular memory and – he can’t help but tease. Just a little – “Mm, yes…” – drags his lips lightly against Quentin’s skin – tingling – and places a soft kiss on his cheek before trailing his nose along his cheekbone to whisper in his ear – “And you liked it. Didn’t you, Q?” Voice pitched low in that way he knows Quentin likes, that heady feeling he gets when Q melts against him blazing through him as the man in his arms shivers and bites back a whimper.

“I don’t… Don’t know what you’re talking about, Waugh.”

Eliot smiles – such a brat – and slides a hand up one of Quentin’s arms and up the side of his neck, draws it round the back to play at the hair there, squeezing _just so_ and Quentin – melts into him just like he knew he would, a string of curses spilling from his mouth, making Eliot chuckle, low in his ear. He pulls back a little so he can see Quentin’s face – pink, eyes a little dark – and takes his lips in a searing kiss, letting his desire bleed into it just a little and –

Steps back, eyes roving over Quentin’s face – now a lovely red, heated eyes, hair just a bit ruffled – as he says, “I think we should go inside before all the food is gone.” Keeps his voice light this time, his need shoved into a box as his brain switches back to family-friendly as he smiles somewhat innocently.

“Fuck you, Eliot.”

“Oh, I sure hope so.” He can feel his smile quirk up into a smirk as he gives Quentin a seductive once-over, like he had in front of that Brakebills sign forever ago.

Eliot follows Quentin inside, a slight shiver washing over him when he steps into the warmth, and shrugs out of his jacket and scarf when prompted to hang them up. His heart warms – expands, almost full to bursting – when Quentin automatically takes his hand to lead him to the dining room and –

His heart stalls at the sight of Quentin’s dad smiling at them, glancing down at their joined hands, and Eliot – can feel his hand twitching, itching to pull away because _Jesus fuck that’s his dad and is he going to be okay with_ – but Quentin’s clearing his throat, stepping forward slightly.

“Um, dad. Meet Eliot. Eliot, meet my dad. We’re uh, we’re dating.”

He stops free falling because. Because Quentin has him, has always had him from the beginning, and he’s caught him again when Eliot needed him most, and Eliot is – squeezing his hand tightly, can’t seem to let go, _God_ , but – this is who brought _Quentin_ up and. And he has to make a good, impression, doesn’t he? Just – just in case. So –

“Hello Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I apologise for us barging in like this, unannounced,” he hears himself saying as he steps forward with his free hand extended and – he’s smiling, but he still hasn’t let go of Quentin’s hand, and he’s _trying really hard_ to keep eye contact so –

“Oh please, just Ted is fine. And don’t be silly, you’re not barging in – the more, the merrier. Have a seat, we saved some food for you both.”

– Quentin’s dad doesn’t think he’s less of a man; instead he’s standing to shake Eliot’s hand, smile still on his face, and it’s _genuine, accepting_ and the knot in his chest loosens, just slightly, as Quentin squeezes his hand in encouragement and motions for him to take the seat beside him. He catches Margo’s eye across the table, and she looks both relieved as well as exasperated while she rolls her eyes at them, but he can see the smile she’s trying to suppress and he winks at her; he feels more settled in his skin, like he doesn’t want to crawl out of it any time soon, and he’s more relaxed as they all drink wine and chat over dinner, but he doesn’t let go of Quentin’s hand.

And after dinner, he gives Julia her present (a camera kit, which was perfect because Quentin had apparently gotten her a new camera anyway), and he’d gotten Quentin’s dad – _Ted_ – a new model plane to build because he had remembered Quentin talking about his father (remembers the fondness with which Quentin had talked about his dad and his planes) so. So he’d made sure not to show up completely empty handed because that would not have been a good first impression and. Eliot might have to finally talk about his family issues with Sheila after the holidays in case – in case he ends up dating Quentin for _a really long time_ which means. More family visits, doesn’t it, but Eliot can’t ever take Quentin home so – so they’d be visiting Ted instead for the next holidays but. But for now –

– this is enough, sitting here in the warmth of Quentin’s childhood home with his favourite people on Earth, hand in hand with the man he loves on Christmas night.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, Eliot has not forgotten Quentin's Christmas present.
> 
> It's only upwards from here on out!
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
